The market maker (26 page)

''We can save herfavela deal," Luis said at last.

"How?"

For the first time in days Luis smiled. It was a small smile. The way he twitched the comers of his mouth reminded me of Isabel. "Bocci is an upstart in the Rio media world. I have friends with bigger papers. We can turn Ricardo's strategy against him. It will hurt him. And it will be something we can do for Isabel. It may not do your career much good, though." He looked at me questioningly

"I really don't care," I said.

21

I went into work on Monday morning. There were smiles and nods, sympathy, questions delicately put. In a way it felt as if I was returning home.

I attacked the pile of papers that had accumulated while I had been away, occasionally glancing over to Isabel's desk. Empty. Tidy. Waiting for its next occupant.

Ricardo drifted over, pulled up a chair, and sat next to me. It was quiet here, away from the square of traders and salesmen who were already hitting the phones.

''How are you feeling?"

I just shrugged.

"It shook us all badly here," Ricardo went on. "It's been tense this last couple of weeks. And then just as things were going so well, suddenly everything fell apart."

I nodded.

"It must be tough for her father. He meant a lot to her." Of course. Isabel must have told Ricardo all about herself and her family, much the same as she had told me. I wasn't sure I liked that idea.

"It is hard for him. Not knowing whether she's aUve or dead."

''And this man Nelson Zarur thinks there's no chance that she's still alive?"

"There's always a chance. But he's not optimistic. Neither are the police."

We sat in silence. I didn't want to talk to Ricardo about all this. But once again, there was something beguiling about his frankness. "I liked her," said Ricardo. "And if I'm not mistaken, you did too."

"I did," I said quietly "I mean I do." I hated to talk about Isabel in the past tense. To me she was still alive. She had to be alive.

"Sorry," said Ricardo. "You're right. I can't accept that she's ... not alive either." His voice held a gentleness I had never heard before.

He shook him.self. "You need to take your mind off it. We all do. I>raw up a summary of how far you and Isabel had got on the Sao Paulo deal. Carlos will be talking to you about it later this morning."

"OK."

"I want that deal, Nick."

With that, he was gone.

With very little enthusiasm, I pulled out the pile of Sao Paulo papers. Luis had said that the revised favela story would come out early in the week, perhaps even that day. So far, I had put off thinking about the trouble that might create. I would soon find out.

It was hard to concentrate on the Sao Paulo deal, and my eyes kept on drifting upward to the news. In a trading room this means looking at a screen as each new news headline is added to a constantly scrolling list. Most of these are pretty tedious, such as "Saint Gobain 3% up in difficult year," or "Ringgit under pressure following poor Malaysian trade figures for March."

No one disturbed me, they all had too much else to do. Carlos was still absorbed in some other deal for a

Chilean electricity company. By eleven I thought that the story wasn't going to make it. Then I saw the headline: ''Brazilian newspaper reports Rio finance scandal planted by Dekker Ward."

I looked over my screen at the rest of the room guiltily No one had noticed it. Yet. The words "Dekker Ward" must leap out at them, surely.

Two minutes later I saw Pedro beckon Ricardo over, and point to his screen. Some taps on a keyboard and the story filled the page. Ricardo leaned over Pedro as he made a phone call, obviously to his contacts in Rio to check the story. They spoke to each other quickly. Ricardo stood up, and rubbed his chin, thinking. Even from here I could see his fingers furiously playing with his wedding ring. My heart was beating fast. I swallowed.

Then he glanced over to me, a puzzled look on his face. He caught my eye. Puzzlement turned to anger. He strode over to my desk.

"Luis Pereira planted that story didn't he?"

I sat at my chair, looking up at him, my face hot. I didn't reply.

"And he knew about my conversation with Bocci because you told him!"

Once again, no reply. A few faces in the trading room were pointing our way. They could tell something was wrong.

"This is going to do our reputation in Brazil serious harm," said Ricardo.

"So it should," I said. I couldn't resist it.

Ricardo's eyes were on fire. His chin stuck out. I had never seen him this angry. He was totally different from the kind, considerate man who had spoken to me a couple of hours before.

"Nick, I went out on a limb for you," he said through

clenched teeth. "You were smart, hungry, good with people. You could have made a great Dekker man. I know what happened to Isabel affected you. It affected me too." For a moment Ricardo paused to get control of himself. "And I know that you were angry about what I did with her favela deal. But we spoke about that. If you didn't like that sort of thing, you should have left, not tried to ruin everything for the rest of us." He glared at me.

"I did what I thought was right," I said. "If that wasn't entirely in Dekker's interests, then I'm sorry."

"Sorry!" Ricardo almost shouted. "That won't do, Nick. We're a team here. We all work together. When things go wrong, we cover for each other. We don't go running to the papers. I trusted you. And you've betrayed me. And not just me, all of us. Now give me your phone."

I passed the receiver to him. He punched in four numbers on the keyboard. "Eduardo?" he said. Then a burst of Spanish.

He dropped the phone and looked down on me. "Wait here. Eduardo will take care of you. I hope I never see you again. And you can be sure I won't see you working for another firm in the City."

He turned his back on me and returned to his own desk. Watchers gawped. They hadn't been able to hear exactly what Ricardo had said, but they could tell he was angry, and it wasn't often Ricardo was angry with anyone in public. Jamie saw me from the square. "What the hell?" he mouthed. I shrugged.

I waited for Eduardo. I felt very alone at my desk. Quickly I grabbed the few items that I had accumulated there that might be called personal. I looked for the fax from United Bank of Canada, but still couldn't find it. And rummaging through my in-tray, I still couldn't see a reply from them with the name of their contact at the DEA.

I felt as much as saw Eduardo's large frame shambling over to me, a half-smoked cigar jutting outward.

"Get your jacket and follow me/' he growled.

I did. He led me through the square past Miguel, Jamie, Carlos, Pedro, and the others. Past Ricardo's back. And into his office. He placed himself in the large leather chair behind his desk.

"As from this moment you are fired," he snapped. "You spoke to the press without permission, a clear breach of contract. I will send on your personal effects and your P 45 this afternoon."

"Thank you," I said neutrally.

Eduardo stared at me for a long minute. I stood still, focusing on the clear desk in front of him.

"You have to understand, Nick, that you can't do this kind of thing and get away with it." His voice was low, almost a whisper. It made my skin prickle, a physical reaction to the danger that loaded his words. "When you go I want you to forget Dekker, and forget all you saw here. But I won't forget you. I'll be watching you. And if I see you try anything, any tiny little thing, which might do more harm to this firm, I will take the appropriate steps." His eyes bored into me. "Do you understand?"

My throat was dry. I knew Eduardo didn't make empty threats. But I didn't want him to see me swallow.

"What I do with my life is my own affair," I said.

"Oh, no, it's not," said Eduardo, leaning forward. " It's mine now too."

There was a knock at the door, and two security guards came in. Eduardo nodded to them, and one of them took my arm. They led me through the unnatural silence of the trading room to the lifts.

I plummeted forty floors down to the real world.

22

I felt elated as I pedaled rapidly back to Primrose Hill, leaving the Tower farther and farther behind me. While I had been in Brazil, my doubts about the money laundering, the way I had deceived Wojtek, and what had happened to Dave had receded into the background. But I knew they would have come back sooner rather than later. I had been fired for doing what I considered right. There was no shame in that, in fact there was a certain freedom. No more worrying about Ricardo, and Eduardo. I could forget money laundering and murder. I had escaped!

By the time I reached home, it was one o'clock, and I was hungry. As soon as I was through the door I checked the refrigerator for something for lunch. Nothing. There was a pint of milk though, so I made myself a bowl of cornflakes. There were also a couple of cans of beer. I don't drink during the day, but I took one. It turned out beer and cornflakes don't go well together.

I was glad to be leaving Dekker, although I felt a fool for going there in the first place. It would be a difficult mistake to unravel. I would have to go cap in hand to Russell Church at the School of Russian Studies, admit I was wrong, and ask if he knew of any jobs anywhere. I

shuddered as I thought of applications, interviews, explanations of why I hadn't any formal Russian qualifications, if I even got far enough to be allowed to explain. My father would think I was crazy

And money. I had received one paycheck from Dekker, which helped a lot. But I stiU had the mortgage on my flat. Mr. K. R. Norris would be on my back again in no time. And I owed Ricardo his five grand, three of which I still had in the bank. Well, that would come in useful to tide me through the next few months. One day rd pay him back. Maybe.

Sharp hammering started up somewhere above me, followed by the muffled crash of plaster pulled away from a wall. I remembered that the old lady upstairs had warned me that she was having some work done. I was never home during the day, so I hadn't noticed

before.

I finished the bowl, and prowled through to the tiny bedroom. My euphoria at escaping Dekker was swiftly evaporating as I faced the realities of life without a salary. The bed beckoned and I flopped onto it. I lay facedown, eyes open, thoughts rushing through

my mind.

I missed Isabel. The initial shock had been replaced by a tiring, chronic despair. The uncertainty was hard to cope with. Most of the time I told myself she was alive. But in dark moments, like now, I felt she was dead, that I would never see her again. The question was always there. If she was dead, why hadn't they found her body? If she was alive, why hadn't Zico called back with the proof of life? Why would he want to kill her when he was on the edge of making a fortune out

of her? The phone rang. It was Jamie. The noise and chatter

of the Dekker trading rcxjm came through strongly in the background.

''What the hell have you done?"

"I didn't do anything. Luis placed the story."

"Based on information you had given htm."

"It was the truth," I said. "Nothing more. And maybe the favela bairro project will get financed after aU."

"Jesus, Nick. You can't do things like that. It's put Ri-cardo in a hell of a bad mood. He thought a lot of you, you know. And why didn't you tell me?"

I should have told Jam^ie, but I hadn't. I just couldn't face explaining it to him.

"I'm sorry, Jamie. But you know I've had questions about Dekker ever since I joined. It's not for me."

"Are you all right? The theory here is that you've lost it since Isabel's kidnap. Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"I'm sure. I am upset about her, but I'd been thinking about resigning in any case. Ricardo just made up my mind for me."

"Well, we're busy doing a Dave on you here. Although it's a bit easier in your case."

"Yeah, well. I'm not surprised." But I was a little hurt. I liked the other guys. I didn't want to be erased from their consciousness.

"You must feel awful, mate. Come round to our place later on in the week. We'll have a beer or two."

"Yes, Jcmue. That would be good."

Jamie had stuck his neck out for me with Ricardo, and I had made him look a fool, something Jamie never liked. But I knew he would stick with me. It would be good to see him.

I drank the other can of beer. Then went out to the shop on the comer and bought some more. I put on

some of Joanna's old CDs. I suppose I hoped that they would remind me of her, and push Isabel to the back of my mind for a moment. They didn't. I ordered a pizza and ate it. Then I rang Luis and told him I had been fired. He said he was sorry, but I told him not to worry. He had no news of Isabel. At some point, as the day dragged to an end, I went to sleep.

I went to sleep thinking of Isabel, and I woke up thinking of her. But I also woke up determined to pull myself together. I cleared up the debris of the day before, bought some real food from the supermarket, and made myself a proper breakfast: bacon, sausages, fried eggs, fried bread, the works. And I made a pot of fresh coffee.

Feeling fat and a little happier, I sipped my coffee and stared out of the window at my small garden. It was a mess, with weeds bursting upward, overwhehn-ing the few perermials that had survived the winter. The grass was looking more like a miniature hay field than a lawn. Perhaps I would get stuck into that after breakfast.

I should call Russell Church at the School of Russian Studies. But not today. Tomorrow.

The phone rang.

"Hallo." It was the first word I had said all day. It came out thick and hoarse.

"Nick. It's Father."

"Oh, hallo."

"Are you aU right?"

"Yes, sorry, I'm fine. Father. What's up?" My father never called me. Never. My mother rang very occasionally, on my birthday perhaps, or when she hadn't heard from me for a couple of months, but not my father.

"I telephoned you at the office last week, but they

said you were in Brazil on a business trip. Sounded interesting. Then when I rang this morning, a nice chap said I could find you here."